


Sebtana Drabbles

by starsandgutters



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgutters/pseuds/starsandgutters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A series of Sebtana drabbles written off prompts from Tumblr. :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A series of Sebtana drabbles written off prompts from Tumblr. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: "Sebastian tries to give Santana an expensive gift so she would be forced to wear it."

“It’s Tiffany,” he says, his hands slipping into his pockets, his eyes studying her attentively even though the smirk on his face remains unperturbed.

She means to scoff, but wastes a moment in doing so as she just  _has_  to squint and read the engraving on the little heart, because Santana Lopez may be HBIC of McKinley, but she’s never had her hands on a  _real_  Tiffany, and, well—shiny.

(Especially since, she suspects, the small glinting rock set in the bracelet is  _an actual diamond._ )

“I can see that,” she replies dryly, dangling it from one end. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Consider it a little token of goodwill, to… grease the wheels a bit. Regarding Friday night.”

“I  _told_  you, I’m not coming to some stupid hoity-toity gathering with you. Why do you even keep asking?” she frowns, putting the bracelet on and checking how it looks against her wrist. If she’s being honest, his insistence flatters her as much as it delights her to say no.

He huffs, looking skyward, his expression turning to aggravated. “ _Because_  going is mandatory for all Dalton students and I was told to bring a plus one – a  _female_ plus one – and honestly, have you  _seen_ the young ladies of the private school that’s sister to Dalton? You’re gay enough to know that no one with eyes would go for  _that_.”

“And you, apparently, are gay enough to know how to pick up good bling,” she muses, her lips pursed. This may not turn out to be a total drag, everything considered. She gets to put on fabulous clothes and showcase her smoking body, and there’s basically bound to be free food and drinks, which is always a plus in her books, and… well, she gets a Tiffany bracelet. It’s a no brainer, really. (And honestly, it’s not as if they haven’t been hooking up on Friday nights for a couple months for hot, hard, no-strings-attached sex anyway, so… what’s the harm in going to a boring-ass preppy social  _before_?)

“Fair enough, John Gage. I’m in. You’re picking me up at 7 sharp, and buying me dinner if there’s no refreshment.”

“Funny, I was sure you’d bring your own supply of tortillas and guacamole.”

“Screw you.”

“Yeah, you always do, don’t you?” The smirk is back as he walks away, but she doesn’t bother coming up with an acidic retort. After all, the small diamond is really shiny… and of all the pendant shapes in the store, he  _did_ choose a heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Red No.6"

It starts as a power game—just like everything else between them.

She carries around two lipsticks: one of the color that she’s wearing at the moment, the other one red. She uses the red one exclusively for marking purposes. One time, she stamps a scarlet kiss over his favourite pocket square. Another time she leaves a fiery-red message on his bathroom mirror— _You suck. XOXO, Santana._

It bemuses him far more than it bothers him, really; which would be cool, if not understanding things didn’t irritate him so much. Presently, Sebastian looks down to where she’s sprawled on top of his legs, idly drawing a lipstick heart around his belly button. He flexes his wrists, still loosely restrained by his Dalton tie (don’t get the wrong idea, they’re all for equality; that same tie was blindfolding her just a few hours previous) and licks his bitten lips. “What is  _up_  with you and that lipstick? I swear it’s like a kink or something.”

She shrugs, smiling that pretty, devastatingly bitchy smile of hers. “I like red. It looks good on me, and it goes with your uniform, so shut that twinky mouth.”

It’s not until much later, when he’s alone in the strangely empty room, that he notices she left the small tube of lipstick behind. He picks it up, rolling it between his fingers curiously, and the number of the nuance catches his eye.  _Red, no.6._

It started as a power game, and—just like everything else between them—it turns into a lovers’ thing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Santana desperately needs a date to some event and asks Sebastian, who teases her endlessly." (Sorta tied in with the first drabble.)

“Come on, stop being such a little bitch. I came to your stupid gathering.”

“Of course you did. After I bribed you with a bracelet.”

“Well, I’m sorry I don’t have money coming out of my wazoo like you do. I’ll get you a ring pop if you want. Just do this tiny thing for me!” she snaps, because she doesn’t want to be asking him in the first place, she’s just desperate.

“I wouldn’t call being your date to senior prom ‘a tiny thing’.” She can actually  _feel_  him smirking and preparing to launch into a little mocking speech, which is impressive, considering they’re on the phone.

“See, I’m pretty sure accompanying someone to a prom – in a disgusting public school gym, might I add – keeping their glass full, dancing the slow songs together—I’m pretty sure that all falls into ‘boyfriend zone’, so to speak. And that is  _hysterically funny_ , because I think—no, I  _know_  I distinctly remember you saying that I was not, nor would ever be, ‘boyfriend material’. As in, because I am—how did you put it again?”

“I said you were a bitchy, twinky prepster with eighties’ hair who has no ‘pause’ option on his jerk button, and would hump anything with a hole,” she says through gritted teeth, because yeah, she remembers too. “You  _are_ , by the way.”

“Ouch. I’m not feeling any closer to acquiescing to your plea.”

“Okay,  _fine._  What do you  _want_  me to do?”

“Bring handcuffs in your clutch, which will later be put to use in my car. And of course, be extraordinarily nice to me all evening, and behave like something resembling a lady – which, I know, is extremely hard for you – and call me ‘sweetie’.”

She cringes. “But you hate that word.”

“Oh, I do. But you hate it more.” She’s pretty sure his smirk just got significantly wider.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: "She feels like she should say something, but the look on his face makes the words catch in her throat."

She hadn’t even meant to hurt him. Which, in and of itself, is a rare occurrence for them. Arguments and cutting words are what their spitfire passion thrives on.

No, she had just meant to state the facts as she saw them. With him, she could do that. She could allow herself the luxury to be honest. Because like her, he was tough enough to take it. She has no idea when that changed, but suddenly she feels like she should have noticed. Paid more attention.

_“Did you get me a ticket to Nationals?”_

_“No, why would I do that?”_

_“Because—I thought I would be coming to cheer for you?”_

_“Oh please, what are you, my little boyfriend? We fuck, that’s what it is. Let’s keep this inside the bedroom. Or, you know, the car or whatever.”_

It was the truth, no more than that. So what if she spoke the words with a little more conviction and malice than she perhaps felt? It’s not like she was trying to convince herself or anything. But he got really quiet really fast, and that’s something that just doesn’t happen, because there always seems to be a snide remark hanging from his lips like a cigarette. (It’s actually part of what she lo—likes about him).

So, she feels like she should apologise. Okay, maybe that’s a little too much. But say… something, a few words to soften the blow. And then she takes in his expression, and how the murky green of his eyes suddenly looks so much duller, without the ever-present glint of amusent to light it up; she can tell, and she’s not sure how, that he’s doing his best not to bite his lip.

“You should leave,” he says, evenly, “I have lacrosse practice soon,” and she nods and starts haphazardly picking up her clothes.

When she leaves, she does so without a word.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Santana and Sebastian fight over what to do for their first vacation together".

When the idea first came up, they were just excited to be going away together.  However it soon became apparent that it would most definitely  _not_  be as easy as just packing a suitcase.

He wanted to visit big cities with lots of artsy stuff (and clubs that stayed open all night). She wanted to go somewhere  _warm_ , equipped with all the first-rate beaches that Ohio so sorely lacked.

“Cancun? Do you seriously expect me to just roast on a towel all day?”

“Well  _I_  would have no problem doing so.”

“There’s just no way. It’s mind-numbingly boring!”

“You only say that because you burn instead of tanning.”

“That’s beside the point. London?”

“Are you freaking  _insane_? Does the sun even  _go_  there?”

It took them two weeks to agree on a trip to Nice. But the worst was, apparently, far from over.

“I don’t  _want_  to go see a stupid exposition!”

“All you want to do is eat and buy things!”

“What is wrong with that?”

“Do you have to be such a painful stereotype of an American girl?”

“ _Excuse me_ , we don’t all speak French because Daddy dearest shits money!”

However, they decided it would be wrong to conclude the experiment had been negative as a whole. For example, they were both perfectly agreed on the fact that angry sex was exponentially hotter when carried through in a five-star hotel room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Santana, Sebastian, leather and a motorcycle." Interpreted quite freely. ;)

Most teenage girls secretly wish a leather-clad rebel on a motorcycle would sweep them off their feet, towards a life of danger, adventure and passion.

Santana Lopez may have been one of these girls, at some point. She had more-or-less dated Puck, after all, and he was considered to be the biggest badass at McKinley High.

But time changes many things, and Santana had learned a few lessons.

She had learned, for example, that true love does exist, and that it can take the shape of two sweet blue eyes and a blonde ponytail. She had learned that true love can break your heart, mend it up again, and eventually just… fizzle out. She had also learned that love can sneak in again, in another place and time, with another face and gender, no matter how absurd the idea may seem at the moment.

Last but not least, she had learned that even if the boy who sweeps you away is less leather and a motorcycle, and more cashmere and a Porsche, that doesn’t necessarily mean the ride will be any less thrilling.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the very enthusiastic prompt: "Rain / weather inconveniences + SPECIAL BANTER TIME IN A CAR, BECAUSE SEBASTIAN WILL TAKE ANY CHANCE TO HAVE SOMETHING OVER SANTANA (HE GIVES HER A "PITY" RIDE) AND SHE FIGURES AN FEW MINUTES WITH THE MEERKAT IS BETTER THAN WALKING HOME IN THE RAIN AND RUINING HER HAIR".

Santana curses under her breath, because the second she got out of school it started raining cats and dogs (what kind of a stupid-ass saying is that, anyway?) and she  _would_  have to be in her Cheerios outfit, right? That’s just her freaking luck.

She breaks into a run, trying to shield her hair with her schoolbag, because she’s just put on a brand new weave the other day, and that shit is  _expensive._ She’s so worried about it, in fact, that she barely notices the black car slowing down until it’s driving alongside her. She doesn’t really notice until she hears a sarcastic voice call out: “Need a ride?”

Santana whips around, the sneering  _certainly not on you_  ready to fall from her lips, then stops in her tracks when she’s met with a familiar smirky face. Sebastian Smythe, Warbler captain and douchebag extraordinaire. What he’s even doing in Lima, she has no clue. Nothing good, that’s for sure.

It only registers after a moment that he’s smirking at her out of the  _backseat window_ , because—wow, yeah, of  _course_  the snotty little jerk would have a  _driver._

“Your eloquence is amazing,” he drawls upon getting no response. “Come on and get in, since you can’t even afford a bus ticket. You look like a wet hamster.”

Her first instinct is to strike back with an insult— _any_  insult—but then, telling him to go fuck himself with a lacrosse stick would almost certainly make him and his stupid, expensive car roll away, and… it  _is_ raining pretty hard.

So she bites it back and climbs inside, trying not to appreciate too much the posh interior or the tinted windows.  _One day,_  she tells herself. One day she’ll have all the dough she could possibly want. She sits back against the seat, back straight, and gives the driver her address, ignoring Sebastian as best she can. (However, the driver doesn’t start the engine until the boy repeats the address word by word, which not only is the most irritating thing ever, but also knocks her confidence down a peg or five.)

“I’m kind of curious to see this famous Lima Heights style you were threatening me with. Is that where the big and bad people are?” he grins, making her want to punch him in the face (though he looks  _sort of_  handsome. But only sort of).

She smiles back sweetly, mustering her best bitchy voice. “Yeah, about that, you might not want to get out of the car. You’d probably be beaten up and mugged ten seconds in, because you just  _reek_  of spineless preppy boy. Oh wait, on second thought,  _do_  get out of the car.”

He says nothing, just looks at her, his smirk growing even wider, like a cat who ate some fucking cream. And he keeps looking at her, unwavering and unnerving, dark green eyes somehow making it hard for her to look away.

She wants him to be like all the other boys and stare at her breasts, or try to look up her skirt (it’s already outrageously short as it is, and she’s even hiked it up a little—God, is he that gay?). She wants to have that kind of power over him. But his eyes never leave her face, and yet it still feels as if he’s stripping her clothes off without a single word, if the prickling heat under her skin is anything to judge by.

“So what are you doing here? Don’t you even go to school anymore? You really do live at the Lima Bean, don’t you,” she quips, the words coming out less cocky than she’d like.

He shrugs, and it’s his turn to look uncomfortable. “I went to see Blaine at the hospital. Offered to pay for the surgery, if you must know.”

“Money doesn’t fix everything, rich boy.”

“Really? How would  _you_  know?” he asks, and God, his level of douchiness is approaching ‘painful’.

 “Whatever. You and your doo-wopping friends are getting your ass handed to you at regionals, and no amount of Daddy’s money will change that,” she grins back, unphased.

“Please. Your pathetic rag-tag club is a joke.”

“Joke’s on you, Smythe.” It’s not one of the smoothest lines she’s ever delivered, but he’s leaning closer and it’s making her nervous in a way that it should not. The kind of nervousness that’s not something a gay girl should feel, especially one with a sweet, blonde girlfriend she’s spending Valentine’s with.

She’s so distracted that she doesn’t hear him say “Your stop, miss,” but when he leans forward to unlock the door for her, she holds her breath on instinct.  _Girl, what is wrong with you?!_

She climbs out of the car a little ungracefully. “Thank you,” she says, and then smiles prettily down at him and adds “…asshole.” It’s an attempt to regain points, and she wonder if he can tell. Apparently he can, because he doesn’t bother replying, just smirks at her before rolling the window back up and driving off. It’s stopped raining, she notices with dull surprise, and it’s almost a pity.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Santana's body seems oddly breakable to him."

It’s seriously odd how for all her feisty fierceness she’s such a petite person, really. Sebastian doesn’t sleep  _exclusively_  with guys, but for the most part, and he’s used to stronger bodies, hard lines, flat planes.

He likes it that way, he likes the push of muscle against muscle, the tension and the rough play; he likes it, because what he really loves – what he  _needs_  – outside of the games and the pleasure and the release, is the  _challenge._ He finds women – the vast majority of them, anyway – weak and boring and far too reminiscent of his mother, with her vapid chitchat and her gin&tonic breath.

Santana is different. She’s a suckerpunch, a spitfire, a troublemaker. A constant challenge. That’s why this whole thing started, it’s what intrigued him in the beginning and still holds him captive.

But that does not change the physical evidence of her body, and how fragile it seems compared to his own. While her personality is all sharp words and cutting looks, her body is smooth and soft, every inch of her tender and squeezable, sinuous curves and plush lips. It’s enticing, and unnerving, and it makes him feel like a wrong move could shatter her for good – which is laughable, because Santana is a tough girl, no questions asked – but he can’t help it. So he holds back, and makes his grasp a little looser, his bites a little less sharp.

And if every once in a while she mocks him, saying how she’s much better at the hard-and-fast kind of sex, he takes it in stride, denying the evidence of his strange trepidation around her, keeping his reasons under wraps. What she doesn’t know, can’t hurt  _him._

 


End file.
